Page 73 of Storm over the Caribbean (Storm and Silence Saga #8)

“Come to me!”

My voice was nothing but a whisper. Yet for him, it apparently was like a flame to a pyromaniacal moth. In a split second, he was on the bed, only inches away from me. His hands were clutching my face, his dark, sea-coloured eyes staring straight into mine, filled with fathomless anguish.

“He…he’s right there,” he rasped, his voice more vulnerable than I had ever heard it before.

Likely more vulnerable than it had ever been.

His chiselled face didn’t seem nearly as invulnerable as usual.

“He is right there with mother and…and Adaira. And my bastard of a…!” For just a moment, his fingers clenched instinctively, clutching me like a lifeline.

“My bastard of a father is planning to practically sell her to him !”

“Why didn’t you do anything before now?”

He snorted.

“…you did, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did! I sent a man north to keep an eye on the situation the moment I received the letter. But I told him not to interfere. I told him it was just some nouveau riche my father was trying to rope in. I told him my sister could handle herself !”

One of his hands disappeared from my face and slammed into the bed’s headboard with a crack , making the whole thing quake beneath me. Yet I didn’t twitch, didn’t even blink. No matter what, while I was with him, I was completely safe.

Judging by the look in his eyes, the same didn’t apply to other people, though.

“I swear…” That look in his eyes seared a brand straight into my soul. I wished so much I could do something, anything to help him, but it was beyond me. “I swear, if he gets his hands on my family, I’ll…I’ll…”

He trembled again, as if about to explode any second.

Maybe you can help him after all, Lilly. Maybe you’re the only one who can.

“Shh…” Gently, I reached out to caress his cheek. To soothe him in a way I alone could. “I know. I know.”

His only answer was to lean forward and kiss the life out of me.

I didn’t push him away. Instead, I slid my arms around his neck and pulled him closer and closer and closer, until not so much as a single hair would have fit between us.

Under my touch, I could feel his wrathful tremors slowly subside.

“Everything is going to be all right,” I whispered. “Your mother and Adaira…they’re both going to be all right.”

“How can you know?” Dragging in a ragged breath, he stared at me. If it had been anyone but Mr Rikkard Ambrose, I might have thought I saw a flash of desperation in his eyes. But, of course, with him that couldn’t be true, could it? “How?”

“Simple.” I tightened my grip on him. “You’ll make sure of it. We ’ll make sure of it.”

That was when the dam broke. A growl erupted from the back of his throat and he hurled himself at me, kissing my cheeks, my mouth, my everything.

At any other time, it might have been wonderful, romantic and warm—but not now.

Now, I could feel the searing hot need behind his every touch.

And, from deep inside me, an answering need sprang to life.

Frenziedly, I started tearing at his shirt.

Only moments later it sailed away and we came together, fiery skin on skin.

It didn’t matter that I was heavy with child.

It didn’t matter that I had to twist like a pretzel to kiss him.

All that mattered was him and me, together.

“My little ifrit ,” he rasped as he pressed his forehead to mine. “What would I do without you?”

One corner of my mouth quirked up “Tut-tut. It is a waste of time to ask superfluous questions, Sir. Because…” Grabbing hold of his perfect sculpture of a face with both hands, I kissed him like my life depended on it—then broke away to look straight into his eyes. “…you’ll never have to find out.”

In answer, Mr Rikkard Ambrose didn’t speak a single word, but simply tightened his grip, gazing into my eyes as if he never wanted to look away again. And then, without another word, he kissed me. Hard. Fast. Relentless.

He’s back!

Joy welling up inside me, I clutched my husband hard and kissed him back until blood pounded in my ears and no breath was left in my lungs.

My stony, silent man is back with me! And I won’t let him slip away again. Not if I can help it!

Reaching out, I grabbed the blanket and pulled it over the both of us, creating a tiny cave of warmth and comfort.

A moment later, the bed started moving. That evening, perfect silence reigned in Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s abode.

Well…except maybe for the creaking of the bed, and the noise made by the small earthquake that shook Empire House.

English geology can be funny sometimes.

***

Some time later…

Well, actually… a lot of time later. Dutiful wife that I was, I had been quite thorough in allowing Mr Rikkard Ambrose to vent his frustration. Out of pure altruism, of course.

Ehem, like I was saying: some time later, I was lying in bed, staring off into the distance and wondering whether you could die from too much amorous congress, when a pair of strong, rock-hard arms wrapped around me from behind and pulled me closer.

A tiny smile tugged at my lips and I snuggled closer to the owner of said arms—again, for purely altruistic reasons.

It had nothing whatsoever to do with the way I felt completely sated and safe in his embrace.

Shifting around, I was able to turn my head just far enough to see Mr Rikkard Ambrose in all his naked splendour, the sinking sun painting his carved muscles in tones of crimson and gold. He was staring at me, his gaze not deviating an iota from my face. Not for a single second.

“Feeling better?” I enquired gently.

His deep, dark, sea-coloured eyes bored into me with an oh-so familiar icy intensity. “Adequate.”

It was his usual response. Completely expected and normal, and yet…

I saw the deeper meaning in his eyes. He was feeling adequate. Not all right. Because…how could he truly be all right considering what he’d just learned about his family?

Without even thinking about it, I turned to fully face him and reached out to take his hand. Intertwining his fingers with mine, I placed them over my heart.

“So…what will you do now? Storm up to Battlewood Hall and force your father at gunpoint to chase his ‘guest’ away?”

“Unfortunately…no.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “No?”

“As much as I would like to deny it, I am my father’s son. Taking this into account, do you truly think he would be convinced by a gun barrel in the face?”

I considered that for about half a second.

“No.”

“Indeed.”

I considered for a moment longer.

“But you do have a plan.”

“Indeed.”

“Does it involve shoving gun barrels in some other people’s faces?”

He cocked his head at me, as if to say, Naturally, what do you take me for?

I smirked. Wasn’t it wonderful to be married to a man you understood perfectly?

“Would you be so kind as to share a list of those people with me, Dicky Darling?” I batted my eyelashes at him. “I could help you…decide priorities.”

“Offering to work for free, are you?” Tightening his grip on my hand, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on its back. “How could I possibly refuse?”

Together, we began to plot. Whatever DeMordaunt was planning up north, neither I nor my husband were going to rush in half-cocked.

Especially not my husband, if recent experience was anything to go by.

No, we would be prepared. So we talked. We considered motives, possible goals, people, angles of approach, methods, targets and countless other things.

Neither of us had any idea what exactly Saint-Celeste hoped to achieve by going to Battlewood.

But we sure as hell were determined to be ready for every eventuality.

One thing we never talked about, though?

What we would do if we came too late. What we would do if Saint-Celeste had already gotten his hands on Adaira.

Because, whether or not I had managed to sooth the rage in Mr Rikkard Ambrose, if he was forced to think about that possibility, his thin veneer of calm would shatter.

And frankly, so would mine.

“We should probably go to sleep,” I whispered. “We’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

“I am not sure if I can sleep.” The words were spoken so low I could barely hear them. Maybe I had only imagined them. After all…Mr Rikkard Ambrose, admitting weakness? Unthinkable! He would actually have to trust someone for that, right?

“Just try it.” One tender hand reached out to touch his cheek. “For me, please?”

All I received in answer was silence.

Being stubborn, are we?

“Besides…” I added innocently and batted my eyelashes up at him. “I am a poor, delicate, pregnant lady. You wouldn’t want me to stay up all night and possibly aggravate my condition due to sleep deprivation, would you?”

A pair of eyes that, even in the fiery light of the sinking sun, somehow still managed to glitter icily bored into my own. “That was underhanded, Mrs Ambrose.”

“I learned from the best, Sir. Plus, does it being underhanded make it any less true?”

“…No.” Those icy eyes of his flicked down to my belly, a moment later followed by the touch of a gentle hand. “No, it does not. Maybe you should simply—”

“Don’t you dare!” Stabbing a finger into his face, I glared at him. “Don’t you dare suggest leaving me behind!”

“Mrs Ambrose…your condition—”

“—won’t matter one bit as long as you have me surrounded by three dozen armed guards. Which, I’m guessing, is what you were planning in any case, whether I stay or go, correct?”

“No!”

I gave him a sceptical wifely look. “No?”

“…I was planning on four dozen.”

I gave him another wifely look.

“…and I promise I will not leave you behind.”

Yay! Wifely looks were amazingly effective. I’d have to remember to use them more often.

“But only if you go to sleep.” He sent me a stern husbandly look. Darn cheater! He was copying my methods! “You need your rest.”

I met his gaze with a determined one of my own. “As do you.”